Molly stopped reading, unable to stomach another word of the scorching review. Her eyes flickered to Jake, whose golden head remained dropped between his knees, palms pressed to his face. This was bad. This was worse than she ever imagined.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Molly
July 2022
Sunday is overcast, the sky knotted with clouds. A tangible humidity hangs in the air. Molly doesn’t lie to Hunter about her plans for the day.
“I told Jake I’d take a walk with him on the beach this morning,” she tells him over breakfast. “I’m bringing Stella.” Molly doesn’t know if this strengthens or weakens her case. “She has a playdate with Jade at noon, so we won’t be long.”
Hunter says nothing, eyes glued to his phone. At the other end of the table, Stella is absorbed in a Frozen coloring book.
“Are you okay with that?” Molly hesitates, swallowing a piece of toast. “I just … I think it would be good for us to catch up. I mean, he lives here now, and if we’re going to be friends…” She lowers her voice. “It’s been a long time, Hunt. He was important to me.”
“I know.” Hunter presses his palms to the table and stands. He slips his phone into the back pocket of his tennis shorts. “Sometimes I just…” He shakes his head, his dark hair swaying lightly. “I can’t believe he ended up here, in our town. I mean, what are the chances, Molly?”
“I get it.” She nods sincerely. “I feel the same way.”
“But it’s fine. You do what you have to do. I trust you.” His eyes clip hers. “It’s just … it’s been a weird summer.”
“I know.”
“It’s almost August, and we haven’t sailed together. Not once.” He sighs. “You just seem distracted.”
There’s a pit in Molly’s stomach. Hunter is right. She has been distracted, and the summer is slipping away from them.
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” he adds, squeezing her hand. “I know we’ve had a lot going on.”
She knows he means the fertility stuff. She nods. “Well, why don’t we go for a sail this afternoon? You, me, and Stell. We can take your mom’s catboat.”
“It’s supposed to rain this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Molly never remembers to check the forecast. Hunter, on the other hand, always seems to know what the weather is doing. This is one of the myriad ways they balance each other out.
“We’ll find a time.”
She nods, pressing against him, leaning up for a kiss. “I love you, Hunt.”
On the way to Skipping Beach, Molly lets Stella use her iPad in the back seat. She should be better about screen time—she knows this—but she needs the ten minutes to ready herself.
Her stomach is tangled with nerves as she pulls the Audi into the parking lot of Skipping Beach. She hasn’t been here much this summer—she typically takes Stella to the beach at the yacht club or to swim at Becky’s pool. The last time she was here was with Sabrina back in May, after the parade. The memory is a soft punch in her gut, and Molly feels a stab of guilt realizing she hasn’t told Sabrina that she’s meeting up with Jake today. The last thing she wants to do is be a shitty friend to the one woman in this town she actually likes. She’ll call Sabrina later, she decides.
Molly spots Jake right away, standing down at the water, ankle deep. Stella follows Molly’s gaze, breaking into a sprint when she sees him, too. He turns, raises a hand in greeting.
When she’s close, he leans in to kiss her cheek. Molly isn’t prepared for this—the slow drag of his stubble across her face combined with the familiar soap-and-pine scent of him unsteadies her. Her legs turn to putty.
Stella has already collected a handful of shells, which she proudly displays for Jake. He crouches to Stella’s level, carefully examining each one.
“This is a beauty.” He fingers a piece of turquoise sea glass. “See how smooth the edges are? This had to be in the ocean for a long, long time to get this soft.”
“How long?” Stella asks, watching Jake closely. “Twenty years?”
He laughs. “Maybe twenty years.”
“Oh.” Stella cocks her hip. “I wasn’t born then. Right, Mom?”
“That’s right, baby.”
Stella looks at Jake. “Did you bring your bathing suit? My mom didn’t bring hers, but she said I could swim, so I’m wearing mine.”
He gestures to his blue swim trunks, which match his eyes. “Duh.” He stands, his shoulders rising in line with Molly’s chin. He’s wearing an old Bob Dylan T-shirt that Molly recognizes instantly—one he used to love to wear onstage. “Good thing we came when we did. Looks like rain later.”